


Hellos and Goodbyes at the Three Roses Seaside Hotel

by lysanatt



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-05
Updated: 2012-06-05
Packaged: 2017-11-06 23:24:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/424377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lysanatt/pseuds/lysanatt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Neville literally bumps into Draco Malfoy at Kings Cross, he didn't think that fate would let them have yet another encounter--one with an entirely different outcome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hellos and Goodbyes at the Three Roses Seaside Hotel

Stations and platforms are places of hellos and goodbyes. They are places where parents greet their children with kisses, or let them go, teary-eyed and already longing for their return. The sound of heavy iron wheels is the sound of separation - or of the anticipation of seeing a loved one again. Kings Cross is no different from other stations in that regard. It is busy and noisy and filled with the same greetings and kisses and tears as any other station in London or England or the entire world. Hellos and goodbyes. Tears and promises. Longing.

Indifference.

That is how Neville Longbottom feels as he sees the Hogwarts Express move slowly away from Platform 9¾, almost covered in steam and smoke and heavy London fog. Indifferent. He loves his children, but not his wife. He watches the train disappear before he finally reaches for the small suitcase beside him and turns to Hannah. 'I'm sorry,' he says, looking into her eyes. They reflect the indifference he feels. 'I'll send for the rest of my things when I've found somewhere to stay.'

'Fine,' she says and there is no pain left in her voice. 'I'm glad the divorce went through this quickly.' She smiles and Neville sees the remains of what they once had flicker on her face: ruins of a marriage; a few recognisable structures still left for them to remember what it was like to love. 'You're a good man,' she says and walks away from him, leaving him standing in the ocean of people: witches and wizards, leaving or talking or waiting. He still feels indifferent. It is the right thing to do: divorcing to chase away this feeling of feeling nothing.

Neville stands there for a moment, on the platform, before he sighs and turns, only to get a feeling of déjà vu. On several levels. Someone who looks precisely like Lucius Malfoy at the time of the battle at the Ministry of Magic is glaring at a slender woman (who looks precisely like Narcissa Malfoy, but isn't) before he picks up a large, obviously expensive leather suitcase and walks away from her. Neville is reminded of how much, exactly, he hates Lucius Malfoy (even if it is wrong). The fact that this younger version of _bloody_ Lucius Malfoy seems to be in the same situation as Neville doesn't increase the love he holds for any former Death Eater - or for any member of the the Malfoy clan. Neville's compassion does not stretch that far.

The younger Lucius Malfoy-version seems upset, just like the woman he is speaking to. Stations and platforms are places of hellos and goodbyes, and this is definitely a goodbye, Neville decides. Precisely like Neville has done, Malfoy seems to be leaving his wife, just there, as they've delivered their pure-blood offspring to be further educated at Hogwarts' School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Neville quietly watches Draco Malfoy's life fall apart, and he can't stop himself from feeling satisfied.

Stations and platforms are places of hellos and goodbyes, of love and longing and hurt and defeat. A clock on the wall ticks the seconds away as Neville stands there, watching. His heart somehow hurts and feels like it has moved upwards to create an annoying lump in his throat. The only thing that moves is the clock's hand, slowly showing the seconds lost. Then the younger Malfoy turns, fighting the suitcase in his hand, almost bumping into Neville.

Their eyes meet, and this time Neville's eyes do not meet indifference or anger. Instead there is pain and defeat and the emptiness of having lost love. Malfoy's brow is marred by a worried, tense wrinkle whose twin Neville is sure can be found on his own brow.

'Watch where you're going, Longbottom,' Draco Malfoy sneers, grey eyes are now angry and glittering, and Draco strides past Neville, leaving a trail of hurt feelings and failure behind him.

 

The next time Neville Longbottom sees Draco Malfoy is when he turns in the narrow bed in the dodgy hotel room he uses. The wallpaper is blotched and reminds Neville slightly of Madam Sprout's rose garden, only in a faded and sun-bleached version. One corner of the wallpaper is slipping, and no one has cared to glue it back in place. Neville lies still for some time, staring at the ceiling. It might have been white once; now it's yellow. There's a crack down the middle, dividing the ceiling into two parts; one the shape of Brazil, the other a bit like Neville's life: the shape of nothing recognisable.

Neville, though, isn't entirely sure which shape _he_ is in. His body is sore, like after a long, hard day's work, but the stinging pain just over his lower back and even further down might be a result of the fact that both Malfoy and he are naked. Neville's head feel like it is going to explode if he moves.

It seems that Neville finally has had the courage to do something about the reason he divorced in the first place. As Neville usually puts things plainly (although he would never have worded that way): He wanted a long, hard cock up his arse. That Neville has finally acted upon his urges is not as baffling as the surprise is it that pure-blood darling Draco Malfoy who is the one who's attached to the other end of said cock. To be precise: Neville has no idea how both Malfoy and his cock entered his bed. And Neville too, it seems. Also, Neville has a suspicion that Mr Malfoy is not going to take any of it lightly.

Vaguely Neville recalls an enraged discussion and some Firewhisky, but how it went from there to the bed in Neville's hotel room... it is a bit unclear. Neville doesn't think waking up Malfoy to ask him is a good idea. Out of the corner of his eye, Neville can see the sleeping man: his cheeks are pale and the hair still silvery blond, so like his formidable father that it makes Neville shiver. There are pale red roses on Malfoy's cheeks as well; whether they were created by anger or hate or by plain old need is beyond Neville's comprehension. 

On the bottom line Neville it feels a bit as if he had gone to bed with Lucius Malfoy. Although it is hard to tell if it is better or worse that it is just Draco. It is almost the same. Powerful, successful, scheming and, Neville has to admit, entirely, heartbreakingly gorgeous men, both. 

Not gorgeous enough, however, to keep Neville from feeling slightly sick from having slept with the enemy.

Neville sends the sleeping beauty and all the white, lovely, pale skin with its pink nipples and pink lips and pink cheeks one last longing look before he gets out of bed. He doesn't leave a note. He counts on Draco throwing a fit before he Disapparates back to whatever luxurious lodgings he has. Nothing like this run-down hotel and the fading roses on the walls and on the duvet and even on the threadbare Wilton carpet. Neville is fairly certain he will never see Draco Malfoy again.

Neville shakes his head in denial, takes a shower and goes to work. There are other, more important things to do than to think of a few hours of drunken... something. Unfortunately, the thought that Draco Malfoy's mouth looks exactly like a rosebud sneaks in and disturbs him occasionally. Nevertheless, roses have thorns, and Malfoy and he dislike each other intensely anyway, so Neville decides to forget about Draco's mouth and his presence in Neville's bed.

 

'Who the hell do you think you are?' a switchblade-sharp voice asks, making Neville look up with a jerk. 'Bugger off, Longbottom. This dump is not large enough for the both of us.'

That is a development Neville had not anticipated. He sighs deeply and sends a half-hearted glare in the direction of his receptionist who seems to be the one who had let Malfoy register yesterday. Neville has no recollection of having given Malfoy a key or a room, or even a thorough fucking.

Draco Malfoy sweeps into the hotel's small reception, robed in velvet and silk and jewellery and Neville can't stop himself from... ogling. Malfoy looks entirely _wrong_ in this place; like a thoroughbred in a stable full of cattle. Neville, however, is way past the time when Malfoy's childish behaviour is able to make him step back, or even flinch. Too many years as an Herbology professor have rid him of any insecurities he ever had.

'It's not a dump. It's the Tree Roses Seaside Hotel.' Neville looks up, his eyes are just as hard as Malfoy's. 'And removing myself is not going to happen, Malfoy. This is _my_ hotel,' Neville informs Draco calmly, without raising his voice. 'But you, on the other hand, are free to go wherever you like.' Neville addresses Malfoy as if he is a particularly annoying child. There are no other guests - not surprisingly when one looks at the state of the place. The receptionist with whom Neville were discussing the renovation of the small wizarding hotel flees quickly.

'I demand an explanation,' Malfoy says, glaring back at Neville.

'Really?' Neville asks. 'I thought the fact that you had your cock up my arse all night is quite self-explanatory.' Not that Neville doesn't want an explanation, he is just not going to cater to Draco Malfoy's every wish, as if the pure-blooded bastard owned this place. 'In a bit over your head?' Neville adds, uncharacteristically gleeful. 'I didn't know you swung that way, Malfoy.'

'Might be a pure-blood thing,' Draco sneers, any rosy-innocent beauty the sleeping dragon has ever had is gone and replaced by an unsuitable anger. 'Seems like you were there too.'

'There is that,' Neville agrees and laughs; a soft, deep laughter, not entirely unkind. 'We were drunk, right?'

'You hope it's going to make you less gay if you can't remember? I doubt your precious friends are going to squeal with delight when they realise you like to take it up the arse. Potter always struck me as particularly pent up. Might be a Muggle thing.' Draco removes an invisible thread from his grey robe before he continues. 'Yes, we were drunk. Do you think I'd have done...' Draco hesitates, as if he has run out of poison. 'I'm not good with Firewhisky,' he admits, strangely honest. 'You said that you wanted to throw me out, but couldn't afford to reject a customer.'

Oh. That explained at least some of it. Exept, of course, how they ended up in bed...

'You offered to help me get to bed,' Malfoy says as if he has read Neville's mind. 'After you stopped offending me. You offered me a drink as an apology. Or was that two? It seems I should have enquired which bed before I let you. Or whose.' Malfoy's mouth makes a twitch, as if he's trying not to smile.

Neville leans against the desk, watching the humanisation of Draco Malfoy. There actually seems to be a person in there, behind all the arrogant hauteur. 'Why are you here in the first place?' Neville asks, surprising even himself that he actually cares.

'None of your bloody busi-' Draco cuts himself off. 'I suppose the entire wizarding world is going to know anyway,' he mutters, moping almost childishly. He brushes the lush hair back from his face where a lock has fallen over one eye. 'I've divorced my wife and my father is not going to reopen the vault for me until I get back with her.' Draco has the decency to look ashamed for an instant, not a common expression for a Malfoy, that much is clear.

Now Neville can't stop himself from laughing. He can't recall anything they spoke of yesterday, so this is news to him. 'Honestly, Malfoy? Get a job. You are what? Almost forty? And you're still li-'

'I have a job,' Draco sneers. 'Now you feel on top of things, don't you, Longbottom?' Draco steps closer and his expression is suddenly so desperate that Neville startles.

'Okay. You have a job. So why are you... here? Don't you have a house?'

'In which Astoria lives. And no, I am not getting back with her. Not even if Father...' Draco pulls his robe closer together as if he is cold. 'I'm on my way to one of my mother's estates. Or estate might be a bit of an exaggeration,' he volunteers. 'It's an old wizarding house, but... the Outer Hebrides... and it's too far to Apparate for me. Too straining.' Draco looks entirely lost for a moment, and Neville has to hold himself back as not to pet him like a puppy.

Neville puts two and two together and gets the result that the both of them have divorced for the exact same reason. 'So that's why you made a break here?' he says, not really stating a question. From Salisbury to the Hebrides is a bit far to Disapparate in one go, and it doesn't seem as if Malfoy has the Galleons for a Portkey - not unless he sells some of the expensive stuff he has wrapped around his neck and fingers. Neville thinks fate is strange.

'Seems like you gave up on Hogwarts for this charming place, too, so shut up,' Draco sulks, and looks more or less ready to blow a raspberry at Neville. 'I am taking the Muggle train. Are you going to see me off?' he asks and arrogantly adds, 'I'd like to have someone carry my suitcase.'

 

Stations and platforms are places of hellos and goodbyes. They are places where parents greet their children with kisses, or let them go, teary-eyed and already longing for return. The sound of heavy iron wheels is the sound of separation or of the anticipation of seeing a loved one again. Saltburn is no different from other stations in that regard. It is slightly busy and noisy when the train arrives at the unmanned station. It is still filled with the same greetings and kisses and tears as any other station in England or Scotland or the entire world. Hellos and goodbyes. Tears and promises. Longing.

A difference.

'Thanks, Longbottom,' Draco says, as he watches Neville push the large suitcase inside the coach. Draco looks almost like a Muggle with his robe transformed into a pair of ordinary jeans and a black woollen coat. The long hair is braided and tied with a piece of the yarn Neville uses to tie up the rosebushes.

'You're welcome,' Neville says politely and suddenly wishes he remembered how it was to kiss Draco's rosy lips.

'I still hate you, Muggle-lover,' Draco says teasingly and leans forward, as if to press his mouth to Neville's, 'but I'll give you that you weren't bad in bed.' The train whistles and the doors slam, parting the two of them by glass and steel.

Neville stares at Draco, wondering what in the world is happening. Draco's eyes are shining, and the last thing Neville sees before the train moves and separates them, is Draco mouthing 'I'll be back.'

 

Two weeks later, Neville is back at the station, this time not to say goodbye, but hello.

This time there are no slamming doors to separate them.


End file.
